Narrative and Lyric Poems (first series) for use in the Lower School

by Unknown

THE ISLAND OF THE SCOTS.

The Rhine is running deep and red, the island lies before,—
"Now is there one of all the host will dare to venture o'er?
For not alone the river's sweep might make a brave man quail;
The foe are on the further side, their shot comes fast as hail.
God help us, if the middle isle we may not hope to win; 5
Now is there any of the host will dare to venture in?"
"The ford is deep, the banks are steep, the island-shore lies wide;
Nor man nor horse could stem its force, or reach the further side.
See there! amidst the willow-boughs the serried[1] bayonets gleam,
They've flung their bridge,—they've won the isle; the foe
have cross'd the stream! 10
Their volley flashes sharp and strong,—by all the saints!
I trow
There never yet was soldier born could force that passage now!"

So spoke the bold French Mareschal[2] with him who led the van,
Whilst, rough and red before their view the turbid river ran.
Nor bridge nor boat had they to cross the wild and swollen Rhine, 15
And thundering on the other bank far stretch'd the German line.
Hard by there stood a swarthy man, was leaning on his sword,
And a sadden'd smile lit up his face as he heard the Captain's word.
"I've seen a wilder stream ere now than that which rushes there;
I've stemm'd a heavier torrent yet and never thought to dare. 20
If German steel be sharp and keen, is ours not strong and true?
There may be danger in the deed, but there is honour too."

The old lord in his saddle turn'd, and hastily he said,
"Hath bold Duguesclin's[3] fiery heart awaken'd from the dead?
Thou art the leader of the Scots,—now well and sure I know, 25
That gentle blood in dangerous hour ne'er yet ran cold nor slow;
And I have seen ye in the fight do all that mortal may:
If honour is the boon ye seek, it may be won this day,—
The prize is in the middle isle, there lies the adventurous way,
And armies twain are on the plain, the daring deed to see,— 30
Now ask thy gallant company if they will follow thee!"

Right gladsome look'd the Captain then, and nothing did he say,
But he turn'd him to his little band, O, few, I ween, were they!
The relics of the bravest force that ever fought in fray.
No one of all that company but bore a gentle name, 35
Not one whose fathers had not stood in Scotland's fields of fame.
All they had march'd with great Dundee[4] to where he fought and fell,
And in the deadly battle-strife had venged their leader well;

And they had bent the knee to earth when every eye was dim,
As o'er their hero's buried corpse they sang the funeral hymn; 40
And they had trod the Pass[5] once more, and stoop'd on either side.
To pluck the heather from the spot where he had dropp'd and died,
And they had bound it next their hearts, and ta'en a last farewell
Of Scottish earth and Scottish sky, where Scotland's glory fell.
Then went they forth to foreign lands like bent and broken men, 45
Who leave their dearest hope behind, and may not turn again.

"The stream," he said, "is broad and deep, and stubborn is the foe,—
Yon island-strength is guarded well,—say, brothers, will ye go?
From home and kin for many a year our steps have wander'd wide,
And never may our bones be laid our fathers' graves beside. 50
No children have we to lament, no wives to wail our fall;
The traitor's and the spoiler's hand have reft our hearths of all.
But we have hearts, and we have arms, as strong to will and dare
As when our ancient banners flew within the northern air.
Come, brothers! let me name a spell, shall rouse your souls again, 55
And send the old blood bounding free through pulse and heart and vein.
Call back the days of bygone years,—be young and strong once more;
Think yonder stream, so stark and red, is one we've cross'd before.

Rise, hill and glen! rise, crag and wood! rise up on either hand,—
Again upon the Garry's[6] banks, on Scottish soil we stand! 60
Again I see the tartans[7] wave, again the trumpets ring;
Again I hear our leader's call; 'Upon them for the King!'
Stay'd we behind that glorious day for roaring flood or linn?[8]
The soul of Graeme is with us still,—now, brothers, will ye in?"
No stay,—no pause. With one accord, they grasp'd each
other's hand, 65
Then plunged into the angry flood, that bold and dauntless band.
High flew the spray above their heads, yet onward still they bore,
Midst cheer, and shout, and answering yell, and shot, and cannon-roar,—
"Now, by the Holy Cross! I swear, since earth and sea began,
Was never such a daring deed essay'd by mortal man!" 70

Thick blew the smoke across the stream, and faster flash'd the flame:
The water plash'd in hissing jets as ball and bullet came.
Yet onward push'd the Cavaliers all stern and undismay'd,
With thousand armed foes before, and none behind to aid.
Once, as they near'd the middle stream, so strong the torrent swept, 75
That scarce that long and living wall their dangerous footing kept.
Then rose a warning cry behind, a joyous shout before:
"The current's strong,—the way is long,—they'll never reach
the shore!
See, see! they stagger in the midst, they waver in their line!
Fire on the madmen! break their ranks, and whelm them in the Rhine!" 80

Have you seen the tall trees swaying when the blast is sounding shrill,
And the whirlwind reels in fury down the gorges to the hill?
How they toss their mighty branches, struggling with the
temper's shock;
How they keep their place of vantage, cleaving firmly to the rock?
Even so the Scottish warriors held their own against the river. 85
Though the water flashed around them, not an eye was seen to quiver;
Though the shot flew sharp and deadly, not a man relax'd his hold;
For their hearts were big and thrilling with the mighty thoughts
of old.
One word was spoken among them, and through the ranks it spread,—
"Remember our dead Claverhouse!" was all the Captain said. 90
Then, sternly bending forward, they wrestled on a while,
Until they clear'd the heavy stream, then rush'd toward the isle.

The German heart is stout and true, the German arm is strong;
The German foot goes seldom back where armed foemen throng.
But never bad they faced in field so stern a charge before, 95
And never had they felt the sweep of Scotland's broad claymore.[9]
Not fiercer pours the avalanche adown the steep incline,
That rises o'er the parent springs of rough and rapid Rhine,—
Scarce swifter shoots the bolt from heaven, than came the Scottish band
Right up against the guarded trench, and o'er it, sword in hand. 100
In vain their leaders forward press,—they meet the deadly brand!

O lonely island of the Rhine,—Where seed was never sown,
What harvest lay upon thy sands, by those strong reapers thrown?
What saw the winter moon that night, as, struggling through the rain,
She pour'd a wan and fitful light on marsh, and stream, and plain? 105
A dreary spot with corpses strewn, and bayonets glistening round;
A broken bridge, a stranded boat, a bare and batter'd mound;
And one huge watch-fire's kindled pile, that sent its quivering glare
To tell the leaders of the host the conquering Scots were there.

And did they twine the laurel-wreath,[10] for those who fought
so well 110
And did they honour those who liv'd, and weep for those who fell?
What meed of thanks was given to them let aged annals tell.
Why should they bring the laurel-wreath,—why crown the cup with wine?
It was not Frenchmen's blood that flow'd so freely on the Rhine,—
A stranger band of beggar'd men had done the venturous deed; 115
The glory was to France alone, the danger was their meed,
And what cared they for idle thanks from foreign prince and peer?
What virtue had such honey'd words the exiled heart to cheer?
What matter'd it that men should vaunt, and loud and fondly swear
That higher feat of chivalry was never wrought elsewhere? 120
They bore within their breast the grief that fame can never heal,—
The deep, unutterable woe which none save exiles feel.
Their hearts were yearning for the land they ne'er might see again,—
For Scotland's high and heather'd hills, for mountains, loch and glen—
For those who haply lay at rest beyond the distant sea, 125
Beneath the green and daisied turf where they would gladly be!

Long years went by. The lonely isle in Rhine's tempestuous flood
Has ta'en another name from those who bought it with their blood:
And, though the legend does not live,—for legends lightly die—
The peasant, as he sees the stream in winter rolling by, 130
And foaming o'er its channel-bed between him and the spot
Won by the warriors of the sword, still calls that deep
and dangerous ford
The Passage of the Scot.

—Aytoun.

[1] serried. crowded.

[2] Mareschal. Marshal, an officer of the highest rank in the French army.

[3] Duguesclin. A noted French commander, famous for his campaigns against the English in the 14th century.

[4] Dundee. John Graham of Claverhouse, Viscount Dundee, a Scottish soldier. He raised a body of Highlanders in 1689 to fight for James II against William of Orange. At the battle of Killecrankie (1689) he was mortally wounded.

[5] The Pass. The Pass of Killecrankie.

[6] Garry. A river in Perthshire, Scotland.

[7] tartan. A Scotch plaid

[8] linn. A waterfall.

[9] claymore. The heavy broadsword used by the Highlanders.

[10] laurel-wreath. The laurel is an evergreen shrub found in parts of Europe. A wreath of laurel was a mark of distinction or honour.